Lepidoptera

fluttering in the cold air
specks of silver catching glimmers of the rising sun

barely touching the water's surface

then


we drown


all it takes

-the wind

didnt really matter;

we only had six more days to live.
six pretty days.

i know.

1830

i was supposed to be there

i never made it

again

and again

and again
and

again

i know
saying this won't help but


sorry.

Curtains of Bel-air

What were the songs we used to sing
the ones we sang during those long nights that never really seemed to end but eventually did anyway.

What were the words I used to write,
the ones I wrote at the back of all your books just so you'd have something to read when you got home, bored.

Where did I put the stack of graphite potrait sketches,
the ones that never looked like who they were meant to be.

By now
looking out,

you'd probably have realised that

After a while


The questions come back,

haunting.
never changing.

along with the Lack of answers.

dear you

you are a wave
you swim out onto the shore- maybe wrestle with the starfish
see the sky, feel the sand, pool around the little feet of children
it's quite a trip is it not.

wading, floating

drowning

sinking


but

remember

back to the ocean that's where you'll go running back to,
on your knees,

against the crashing tidal waves,

pleading mercy

and you know it.

we all do.

p/s


don't bother.
waves can't use life jackets.

Robbie, the Beach and the Man whose technicoloured trunks could not be moved.

I dont know how long I walked today.
As I stood upon the beach, the wind bellowing against my skin caused the smell of salt water to saturate my pores.
I looked up into the ominous sky and it hit me that I was staring right into Time itself. The dark and light clouds alike shifted hurriedly across the powder blue sky as though in a race, no time to stop, no time to stop. Over my head and off to an uncertain destination.
It was like one of those perspective photographs where everything except your still, still body was in a constant positive velocity, speeding along an unstoppable current into Eternity.

I should probably note that my mother cautioned me against going to the beach as she briefly left for work, for fear of the looming dark clouds in the sky signalling a possible storm.

Of course, I still walked on anyway. People don't stop living today just because of some dark cotton candy in the sky. They don't. They still carry on doing their thing. Or maybe that's just exclusive to stubborn old me.

I made friends with this guy who owns a retired racehorse and I feel so haappy to be able to pet it and rub its forehead as much as i want everyday :) I rode him too.

I wasn't all too enthusiastic about spending a week out here. but ah.

I supposed I needed it.
I mean, look, I got my inspiration back, I'm writing for now.

And who would've thought that a someone I don't know whacked me into my senses again.

There's this lady about fourty who lives in the same building right now. Every morning, she gets up early, walks all the way down to the swimming pool and swims for an hour or so and then gets back by herself.

And she's only got one leg.

Every morning I wake up early, have breakfast, take long walks at the beach, play with a horse and laugh at strange old white men with their reddened faces and tight multicoloured swimming trunks. lol. (still so killing myself for not bringing the camera. ARGH)

Later on I walk some more until I get tired and return, maybe grab a chocolate bar from the shops. And sleep, sleep, sleep.

and I finally put it on paper...

.

...and realised it doesn't matter, my friend. There's nothing to feel. Leave because you can.

What's love got to do with it.

Don't let anyone tell you what love is.

My parents slave day and night, support me when I mess up, take my side even if sometimes it's my fault, let go in terms of social expression and freedom not because they don't care or are crazily liberal people, but rather because it's for my own good.

After working all day, they still find time to deal with my erratic moods and rubbish of that sort.

And, even if i go so far as to disappoint them in any way, my faith is that they continue to love and care on the grounds of blood is thicker than water.

And, it's not just this year, or last year, or for a short period, or during those times when they like my attitude but

almost two decades. Inclusive of those times where I was acting extremely unreasonable.

They changed my diapers back in those days where disposable ones weren't nearly as ubiquitous as compared to today, washed my puke off the... THEIR bedsheets at 4 a.m., tolerate, forgive, tolerate and tolerate.

Now THAT

is love.

so if you just for a moment think you're in love just because you feel something.

Hit yourself with a pan will you.

words don't tell me shit.

never thought that I had anymore to give

Just when I thought I lost it.
blah.









truth is, i'd still have to. see how these corny things never work for me. pathetic. apathetic.

More than what it seems.

not familiar? haha go listen to some James Blunt.

I guess this would've have looked like a page out of his diary .

P.S. Good thing I avoid using the subways.

Flowers in the Park

I do love flowers, even if i never was a green-finger type.

Somebody should have warned me though.

Those Pretty flowers that I thought was nurtured to grow so prettily in the park

might have just turned out to be

Weeds.

Apparently I am a Commie Crackpot with No Heart

Funny how we can actually bury the living.
Mentally, that is.
And i'm not just talking about the people here, but places, faces, objects, feelings, you name it.
Whatever it is you want to bury,

1. just dig up a ditch,


2.toss the aforementioned subject and cover it up with dirt.



3. (optional) Maybe give it a nice pat with the shovel at the end. Plant some pretty flowers as commemoration.


Or


spit at it, as you like because, hey, hands down, you're the boss of your mind.

But that's gonna give you some legal issues say you're in one of those places where youre not allowed to spit. (but.. in your mind? hold on yeah i guess it's legal to imagine that you're spitting in your head. sounds rather dumb though, if you ask me)

Not trying to make any point here, Not trying to bring a message across to anyone.
No judgements, leave that to the qualified.

Just because I don't exactly talk about Magical Fairytales and things like Frumpshey and Schrumpy's Never Ending Tales of Happy Times in Wonderland does not mean I am depressed and I want to kill myself and oh GOSH someone SAVE ME.

I believe in faith hope love and all the things I've come to learn about as a little girl. Just because I don't expose my soul inside out to the whole wide world doesn't mean I'm some sort of Fool, Atheist, Commie Crackpot on Drugs.


Rest your minds in peace.
there are no clues here, I am not Zodiac the killer for goodness' sake.
I do not want to kill anyone and neither do I want to encrypt a secret delusional message to be scrutinised by the public.


It's just that Vague is apparently Vogue to me.


Chill off, all Sherlock Holmeses, 'ya'll crampin my style'.

CAUTION: I'm totally back into my writing mood. As for now.

Really, i'm full of Candy floss and stuff like this.

no, Really.

How can there be no story in the storybook?

We used to joke about this particular poem we had in Literature back in those days,

a very beautiful moving one full of imagery and depth. It was the one by Pablo Neruda called 'Tonight I Can Write'.

I suppose the equal of the poem, but one entitled 'Tonight I Cannot Write' would be a piece of blank paper with only the unfortunate title sitting alone to speak for itself, one line so insignificant and yet, still, so significant.

I suppose the last few months where I left this blog empty can therefore be considered the masterpiece that I have written and left sitting alone to speak for itself. So insignificant and yet, still, so significant.

"..and the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture" -P.N.